


i wear glasses (so that i can see you better)

by keycchan



Category: Fallout 4
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, M/M, aka maccready wears glasses., and mac accidentally becomes a minuteman, au where all factions work together, there's like one tiny mention of sex somewhere
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-03
Updated: 2017-08-03
Packaged: 2018-12-10 17:38:21
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,160
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11696598
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/keycchan/pseuds/keycchan
Summary: MacCready's got things to see.





	i wear glasses (so that i can see you better)

He’d found out about his vision pretty early on, back in his Little Lamplight days.

Lucy had been the one to tell him, had caught on even before Joseph did, because she was always smart like that. He remembers reading Grognak, at the time — or trying to, anyway. Was hard to make out exact words, the stuff was sort of blurry to him, and sometimes faces were hard and made him squint to check out the details in the yellowed pages of the old-world comic, but then Lucy had walked up to him, her face in perfect clarity in the distance and growing blurrier as she came up from feeding the dogs, and she’d said;

“They called it farsightedness, in the Old World.”

That was the first time he’d heard about it.

It’s a problem he’s always had. Things in the distance were always clearer, sharper, but things up close always got a little blurry. Wasn’t so bad when he was a kid, not really, but it hasn’t really gotten better, not even when he left the caves behind him and headed for Big Town the first time. He remembers asking a doctor to check it out, but getting that sort of thing fixed was way, way,  _way_  too crazy expensive for him to ever entertain, and he doesn’t really trust people with sharp, pointy things near his eyes anyway, so.

It’s never really bothered MacCready  _too_  much. In fact, he knows he’s gotten off pretty lucky. Growing up in the wasteland means there’s always a solid chance you’ll get saddled with something unfortunate from birth. If you’re lucky, it’s a few extra toes or maybe another thumb, maybe imperfect hearing or sight. If you’re  _un_ lucky, well.

He’s buried enough bodies, in his mayoral days, of other children who had no chance of making it out into the world with the things they were born with.

Not that everyone born in those ways are doomed. Things are just harder, a whole  _lot_  harder. Doesn’t mean it’s impossible, though, and he knows it, has seen just as many healthy people get shot down as those who aren’t so fortunate. He knows for a fact that sometimes living with stuff like this can even hone wasteland survival skills. When you’re born knowing you’re at a disadvantage, you learn quickly about how to make do with what you have, and train whatever you’ve got.

So his sight?  _Not_ a huge deal. He can still point his rifle and shoot, and with damn good accuracy, if he could say so. He’s proud of that. Sure, things are a little harder to see up close, some faces hard to focus on, but his whole combat approach was to make sure enemies never got that close anyway. And he’s trained for years with his knife to handle those that do. He doesn’t need to see the faces of the raiders he’s trying to stab, after all, and it’s not even  _that_  blurry when it comes to things up close. Just enough so that it gives him a bit of a headache if he focuses too long. Just enough that he can’t quite make out the fine details.

( Sometimes he’s even a little glad he can’t make out close things super clearly, not unless he focuses.

He wants to remember Lucy the way he did when everything was still okay; when he’d held her in his arms after she had Duncan, and he’d watched them, forced his eyes to adjust just so he could see them, so he could commit it to memory — the way her eyes lit up whenever Duncan giggled, the way her chapped lips had cracked as she’d smiled so beautifully it could power the wasteland for  _years_ , by god, the way his baby boy’s little fist held onto his finger like a lifeline.

He’d burned the memory into his brain, watched them until his eyes could trace every part of her grin, until his head had hurt. It was worth everything. It’s what he wants to remember her by, even though his ears remember what his eyes couldn’t focus on from that night in the subway. He’s grateful, yeah, that he doesn’t have to bring the weight of the look on her face when she was ripped apart by ferals, but he wishes he could forget the sound of her screaming, too. )

So MacCready’s made due with what he’s got. It’s kept him alive, kept him aware and trained through his years in the wasteland, even after he’d moved on to the Commonwealth. Had been good enough to even become a sharpshooter for the Gunners, something he’s still a little proud of, even though he’s not proud of what he had to do under them, even though he had to leave them anyway.

In fact, most of the time, he doesn’t even think about it anymore. After he’d left the Gunners, sole survivor Kai had rolled into the wasteland, a whirlwind of a woman who drew everyone to her like a damn magnet, MacCready included. He never really had time to go squinting down at old comics, not when he was busy taking down muties and raiders, or helping out Minuteman settlements. Even after the first job was over, she’d left him at Sanctuary and asked if he could help around, right before paying him  _triple_  the amount they’d agreed on when she hired him.

 _Loot money,_  she’d said, because she was a new kind of crazy and preferred punching all her enemies to the dust instead of using a gun like a sensible frickin’ wastelander, so she sold pretty much everything they got from Vault 114.

And he’s cap-hungry, yeah, but he keeps to his word. So.

He pretty much ends up being paid to be a Minuteman. Not officially, but she’d brought him back to Sanctuary to do work, and he’d been skeptical at first, yeah, but it’d given him a roof over his head. Food and drink and medical aid whenever he needed it. And his skills never went to waste — the Commonwealth was the same as anywhere else in the wastes, full of raiders and muties and animals that needed killing, and MacCready’s gun has always been pretty dependable. And then it moved on to the  _Castle_ , and MacCready pretty much became one of the team.

Helps too, that he’s actually gotten pretty good at handling even settlement-based problems. Not that he  _likes_  to, he’s better at shooting things down than any of that diplomacy crap, but efficiency and getting sh — getting things  _done_  was how he managed to run Little Lamplight, and after becoming a sort-of permanent resident of Sanctuary, and then the Castle, he finds those traits rearing their heads again. It’s a headache, and he doesn’t seek it out, and he’s not even the best people person, but it doesn’t seem to be stopping anyone from running up to him and whining about not knowing what to do with setting up defenses in some random new Minuteman settlement, so. He just does what he has to do.

If he were honest, he’s glad he can’t make out every detail of every person coming up to him, because if one more rando starts complaining about the lack of mutfruit when it’s  _clearly_  winter and out of season, he’ll take the extra time to mark out that person’s face before punching it across the Castle. MacCready’s an efficient leader, but it doesn’t mean he’s got an abundance of patience.

Though, he’s grown into the role. Because for the first time in years, he’s earning his caps, honest as all get out. Hell, Lucy would be  _proud_. The thought of it’s enough to keep him going strong, most days.

And then there’s Preston.

 _That_  had started out as mutual disdain. He never needed perfect vision to see that the Minuteman angel didn’t like the ex-Gunner. Fair enough, and MacCready didn’t have the patience or the energy to seek out any kind of friendship in that sort of grudge, so he never bothered. But missions and just being in general proximity of each other had changed that, especially after they’d both helped Kai in the battle to take the Castle back from that horrorfest that made the nest there.

And when the Castle was just starting up, people had to get busy restoring it, and Commonwealth troubles didn’t stop just because a huge friggin’ seamonster came up from the waters and nearly killed them all. And MacCready was around. And there was the promise of caps. So he went on missions, and because living saint Preston Garvey wanted to change the world or something, it usually meant they got sent out together. And then fought together. And then came back together, live together in the same area, before the whole thing rinses and repeats.

Things MacCready had figured out in that time: you don’t live at someone’s side almost every day for a year if you hate them. You don’t see someone bleed out and then drag them back to across the Commonwealth if you didn’t want them to be okay. You don’t confess your survivor’s guilt as the last Minuteman of Quincy unless there’s a bond somewhere in there, and you don’t drunkenly mention your dead wife and sick kid unless you  _really_  trust someone.

Can’t blame MacCready for trusting someone like Preston angel Garvey anyway. Selfless, kind. A little bit of commitment issues and leadership fears, but one of the nicest people in the ‘Wealth, and it’s a miracle there isn’t a bullet in his skull for it, though not for lack of trying. What MacCready had hated about him at first, the goody two-shoes attitude and shining boyscout of a personality, now just... Meant a lot more, after he’d taken the time to know the guy. The fears. The flaws. And Preston got over his own distrust, his own issues, and suddenly things were different.

And he still doesn’t know how Preston comes to trust him right back, even after everything. 

( There was probably an explanation somewhere, on one of those nights where either or both of them nearly died, and Preston sat shoulder to shoulder with him and let out a bit of his heart and fears. One of those nights where they were both shaking but didn’t want to say it.  _Scared,_ but unwilling to admit it. Somewhere there, probably, Preston probably explained it all. 

MacCready can’t really remember; he’d been too busy trying to focus his eyes on the details of Preston’s face, licked by firelight, under the stars. )

So, okay, yeah, there’s a lot of finer details that MacCready’s either missed or forgotten.

All he knows is that something changed along the way. Something that happens when you put your life in someone else’s hands and they put theirs in yours, something that happens when you realize both of you are actually  _people_  and not just some Minuteman saint, or a bloodthirsty merc. Something changed, MacCready’s never been good at words, but somewhere along the way Preston had started taking night patrols just to talk to MacCready about the most inane brahmincrap, and MacCready had started falling asleep on the chair by Preston’s bed in the medbay after everytime they’d gotten back from a mission hurt.

Things  _definitely_  changed, after they’d found Duncan’s cure, and MacCready had kissed Preston full on the lips after daisy sent the caravan off.

Was settled, when Preston had grabbed him by the front of his duster and kissed him back just as hard.

( They kissed until they were breathless, Preston’s fingers clutched tight on his coat and MacCready’s hand in Preston’s close-shaved coarse curls, and when they pulled away it was, honestly, one of the most frustrating times of MacCready’s  _life_ , one of the few times he’d really  _hated_  his imperfect vision, because that night, under the stars, he  _knows_  Preston had been smiling at him, and he only wished he could’ve  _seen_  it. )

After that, they were... Hell, MacCready doesn’t even know the word for it.  _Lovers_  is too corny, too cheesy, and  _boyfriends_  just sounds juvenile. But these days he gets to wake up to Preston’s arm across his waist, if he gets up earlier, or he gets to see the blurry broad span of Preston’s back if Preston has to get up before he does (and MacCready doesn’t need perfect sight to know those muscles are chiseled,  _damn_  him), and Preston kisses him before morning duties everyday in a way that makes MacCready flush red and — he’s gone a little deep into this, yeah, but he’s stopped caring ages ago. The wastes are too harsh to bother caring.

They fit together more than they thought they ever would, anyway. He’s not the best people person, he knows he comes off as pissy (and he’s not gonna do a damn thing about it, thanks) but he’s efficient and a quick thinker, while Preston is the heart of the Minutemen, determined kindness and a moral compass that guides everyone else along. MacCready’s content to just pitch in his head where he’s needed, and more often than not he helps out Preston where he can. Especially now since Preston’s the new general, the rank handed to him after Kai had to leave Minuteman duties indefinitely to turn the tides of the rest of the Commonwealth, to march right into the  _Institute_.

(”I’m scared,” Preston had told him, that night, after Kai pulled him up to that rank with the votes of the other Minutemen, after she had to leave to seek her son in the friggin’  _Institute_ , of all places. Preston was on top of the Castle, staring out over the sea. He didn’t have to be there, wasn’t his patrol, was MacCready’s, but at this point they basically patrolled together anyway. Routine. “I’m — hah, god  — I’m fucking  _terrified_ , babe. I can’t — I can’t fuck up again. Leading all these people, if I fuck up, I — god, it’s all riding on  _me_.”

And MacCready had frowned, then. Looked over at him, or what he could make out of Preston’s features, and scowled. Squeezed his hand. Because _what the hell_ , because Preston’s the embodiment of everything everyone else _should_ be like. Because Preston’s levelheaded, and forgiving, kind but smart and reasonable and sure, fine, he’s got his flaws, got his thing about handling responsibilities, but the guy’s already basically the leader anyway while Kai’s away.

“Quit worrying so much. Put some damn faith in the people in this cause, we’re all in this, not just you. Kai picked you for a  _reason_. You’re the leader now, but that doesn’t mean you’ll be doing this crap on your own. ” he remembers saying. Remembers turning back to the sea, and watching the moon’s distant reflection ripple on the surface, and; “You’re not in this alone. You’ve got the Minuteman by your side, not under you.”

He didn’t see Preston’s face, then, could see the moon clearer than he could see Preston, but he’d felt the hand squeeze his back. Heard the voice go softer.

“And I’ve got you in my corner.” Preston had said, then. Smile, somewhere in the voice, even if Mac couldn’t see it. “I do, don’t I?”

MacCready only snorted. “What, you just figured that out?” )

These days, they’re just literally holding down the fort. And it’s been going pretty well, actually, though it’s backbreaking work. Preston’s doing unsurprisingly great at his job, despite his fears and insecurities, and he’s running the Minutemen operations across the whole Commonwealth, taking back old mutie dens and raider spots one settlement at a time. Making decisions, and when he can’t — he comes to MacCready, who’s saddled down doing more of the tedious, mundane crap like figuring out where to put new water pumps or telling fresh-faced Minutemen how to deal with crops gone bad.

It’s not as adrenaline paced as it was when he was still working as a mercenary, but MacCready’s... Adapting. Oddly fine with it. Can get used to food and water whenever he needs it, solid roofs over his head and heavy defenses giving him easy sleep. Can  _definitely_  get used to Preston in the same bed as he does, to waking up to someone warm, to having a partner like Preston to fight with, laugh with, bitch about leaderly duties with over late night coffee and nearly dropping from exhaustion.

And just because things aren’t as adrenaline paced doesn’t make them any less busy, or tiring. Bigger Minutemen numbers mean more things to organize and supervise, and even MacCready’s had to head out more than a few times to give new settlements a helping hand, though he’s never bothered to be nice about it. There’s always something to do, something to fix, something to defend and someone to rescue, to keep MacCready busy and earning his honest caps. Most days, he and Preston don’t really fall asleep together more than they collapse on the same bed.

MacCready barely knows how  _Kai_  does it. She’d jumpstarted the Minutemen back to life at such a rapid pace the Commonwealth got whiplash, and then she’d hopped off that train only to head right to the Railroad and got  _those_  guys to ally with the Minutemen, aligning safe travel routes for rescued synths in return for heavy protection from the railroad when needed. And then she’d talked to the frickin’  _Brotherhood of Steel_  and somehow got them to behave, and then she’d gone to the  _Institute_  and came back in not just one piece, but better than ever.

MacCready’s barely making it to the bed these days just from dealing with his tasks at the Castle and helping out Preston. He admires Kai, sure, but he wouldn’t trade shoes with her at  _any_  point. He’s got enough on his plate just making sure there’s enough food to go around come winter, and helping extermination teams clear out muties and raiders. Preston’s the only reason he even makes it to the bed instead of passing out wherever he’s standing, these days. If he ever traded places with Kai, he’d probably keel over at some point. She’s all over the place.

So it’s pretty surprising, and almost frustrating, when she comes back to the Castle after months and months and  _months_  of working for the Institute and repairing bonds and fighting off bad guys and  _somehow_  making it all work, and the first thing she does is bring gifts.  _How the hell_ , MacCready remembers thinking, because even  _Preston_  isn’t this selfless. And it’s anything, from clean blankets to toothpaste to books.

And at one point, she had passed him a pair of glasses.

“Uh.” He’d said, because he’s great at this, as he squinted down at the wire and glass in his hands. At least no one else is watching him completely fail at basic gratitude, down in the armoury. “Glasses?”

“For your eyes.” She’d answered, and really, it’s proof of how much of Preston’s patience had rubbed off on him when he resists facepalming himself so hard he cracks his skull.  _No shit, Sherlock,_ he wants to say, but shuts it. “You have hyperopia, right?”

He frowned. “Gesundheit.”

She’d  _laughed_ , almost unfair how sunny it was. “Farsightedness. You mentioned it one time, way back. I know you’re already pretty good going along without it, but the Institute’s got these, and I figured you should try ‘em out.”

( And of course she’d remember something small like that. She had a way with people, made everyone around her feel personally touched by having her in their lives like that. Even if she never met them before, even if she wasn’t always around, even if she’d only hired a person one time for a mission in saving a synth detective, she always had the effect of  _caring_ , no matter who you are or for how long she’s even known you for.

Frustratingly nice. MacCready knows it well. After all, he’s dating someone who’s almost the same. )

“Go ahead. Try it on.” She’d said after that, urging. “The degree might not be perfect, cause i can’t exactly drag you to the Institute with me, but if it’s not perfect I can keep coming back until something fits better.”

He’d rolled his eyes. Didn’t think they were that big of a deal, but he slid them on anyway, just to humour her. Definitely not because he was curious, nope.

And then, for the first time, MacCready was able to see her face.

It’s not perfect, no, but it’s  _something_. His imperfect vision’s never really bothered him, but he’s not above saying he spends days, after, taking time off of crop planting and leaving it to Ronnie Shaw so he could go through his collection of Grognaks and devour them, soaking up words and details he never got to see before, not without giving himself a headache. Reads the comic books over and over until he was almost sick with it. Read scavenged magazines until he knows way too much about how to perfectly curl hair than he ever needs to know.

He could make out what his hands properly look like, for the first time in... Years, decades, maybe. Could see his scars and callouses, each one he’s damn proud of, a sign of all the battles he’s fought and won and come out on top, all the hard work he’s put in to get this far. He’d examined the wooden toy soldier Lucy gave him, now proudly standing tall on his and Preston’s nightstand, had saw and thought about how the paint had started fading just a little. He’s always been able to see the sky, but for the first time in forever, now, he can look in a mirror and actually see his face properly (has his nose always been that crooked? Shit.)

Even so, even with all the cool stuff he’s been  _finally_  able to see with the glasses, he’s lived so long without them that he still goes... Without, almost all of the time.

He doesn’t need them when he’s tending to the mutfruit crops, or when he’s telling settlers where to set up certain things and facilities, or when he’s putting down trade orders for new bottles of Rad-X. He absolutely doesn’t need them when he goes out on area clearance and doesn’t need the glint of the glasses giving away his location when he snipes. And he definitely doesn’t need to come home in exhaustion and fall face-first on his bed and accidentally break anything, not when his eyes are  _right there_. Plus, they’d be a pain to fix if he got them dented or broken or dirty of he wore it out and something happened. He’s gotten by his entire life without them, and he doubts he’ll ever wear them regularly.

But he does still wear them, sometimes. Rare times, when he has the chance to breathe, and he settles in their private quarters and can take a break. It’s the only place he ever really wears them. And the only person who ever sees them, besides Kai when she comes to drop them off (and she’d found the right pair, a little while ago) is Preston.

If there’s anything that makes MacCready slide those glasses on, it’s Preston.

When he saw Preston’s face properly, for the first time, standing up close and in perfect clarity, the man had turned redder than a tato even through the darkness of his skin, and MacCready’s chest squeezed so  _hard_  in itself he felt like he was imploding, the affection welling inside almost threatening to make his lungs explode, to make it all spill out.

God, Duncan forgive him, but Preston Garvey has absolutely  _no fucking right_  to be this attractive.

( “It looks perfect on you, babe.” Preston said, the first time MacCready tried the glasses on with him around, not too long after Kai’d first dropped them off. “Makes you look so good.”

And things MacCready had seen, then, that he never got the chance to before in perfect clarity: the way Preston’s eyes went warm and affectionate, the fondness in his smile. Those full lips that MacCready’s been kissing all this while, the scar on Preston’s face, the way the shape of it shifts just a little when he grins. The way shadows fall on those frustratingly perfect cheekbones. The smudge of dirt from croptending that MacCready doubted Preston even noticed.

And MacCready had thought,  _holy shit._

He’d thought,  _I missed out on this? Are you kidding me?_

And later still. Later, with nothing but moonlight on them, raising perfect contrasts on Preston’s skin, and MacCready had watched, had  _seen —_  the jump-flutter of every hitch of breath Preston made as MacCready ran his hands down abs that could stop pedestrian traffic, the tiny, minute thumps of pulse as MacCready had breathlessly nibbled the man’s jawline, the quiver of Preston’s mouth as MacCready prepared him. The way Preston’s teeth caught on those frustratingly good lips everytime MacCready suckled on a pulse point on his neck, the way his fingers clutched the mattress every time MacCready found a good spot.

The first time MacCready had  _watched_  Preston fall apart under him, perfect thighs around skinny hips, and MacCready could see the point where he disappeared  _inside_  Preston and Preston’s eyes had shut, mouth falling open in a slow, breathy  _moan_  as he came, hard and intense and painted streaks across his abs —

MacCready’s brain pretty much shorted out. )

He still doesn’t wear the glasses that often at all. Still never even wears them outside, except for the one time one of the kids running around the Castle got a nasty hand wound and only MacCready had been around in the medbay, and he had to patch it up himself (he wonders, still, if Duncan will like it here when he gets well enough to travel down to the Commonwealth.)

But when he does have the time, he heads back to their private quarters and picks them up, slides them on. And almost always, when he does, he does it while Preston is there with him. These days, he wakes up earlier, just so he can slide the glasses on and watch the morning light fall radiant on him, just so MacCready can see the way Preston’s face relaxes in his sleep, the rough lines of stress smoothing out. So MacCready can be the first — and he’s proud of that, he actually is, alright  — to see Preston when he wakes, the way unfairly long lashes flutter open, the way chapped lips crack into a sleepy, sated smile when Preston’s eyes meets his own, and Preston says  _good morning_  and MacCready’s chest bursts with so much warmth he almost doesn’t know how to deal with it.

He wears them at night, if neither of them are too tired, so he can watch the way Preston’s shirt slides off that unfairly toned body (and MacCready feels more than a little scrawny in comparison, but it doesn’t matter). He slips them on so he can watch Preston crawl into bed with him, so he can see him gentle and pliant, the way the moon curves on Preston’s skin and maps out every scar and bruise that MacCready can’t see normally. It makes MacCready’s mouth go dry, everytime. Makes his chest tighten something  _fierce_ , fond and warm in equal measure, makes his pulse speed up to insane levels whenever he gets the benefit of seeing Preston kiss the soft, pale underside of his wrist, his palm, each knuckle, because Preston’s a frickin’ sap and MacCready’s so, so deep into this, he’s screwed and he’s not gonna do a damn thing about it.

At one point, in one of the rare nights they can take a break — Mama Murphy’s celebrating her nth birthday out in the courtyard, and MacCready doesn’t see what the big deal is since he’s pretty sure the lady’s immortal at this point — and Preston’s waiting for him on their bed. They’d taken off out of the party early to get some rest in before tomorrow, because a deathclaw had paid a visit to finch farm, and while no one got hurt,  _someone’s_  got to take the thing out before someone  _does_ , and then there’s the whole damn problem of needing to repair damages. God _damn_  it.

Preston’s already in bed, changed into some well-worn grey jumper so loose the collar hangs past his collarbones, and MacCready kicks off his boots with a grunt, doesn’t bother hanging up his duster or his other clothes before slipping on his glasses, watching the closer things in view start clearing up. It’s almost routine, now.

“You know, I’ve been wondering. You’ve gone your whole life without them.” Preston pipes up, then, laughter in his voice. “But you always wear them in here. Makes me wonder why.”

MacCready snorts. Turns around to say something witty, or snarky, or dumb, but.

He sees the warmth in Preston’s eyes in all it’s detail. The way it goes  _soft_ , when MacCready looks at him. The tired but satisfied slump of his shoulders, the way Preston’s mouth cracks into a smile, knowing,  _comfortable_ , like this is all there is, like this is  _them_ , where they’re going to be and  _content._ Makes MacCready wonder how his life’s gone so  _good_ , how he could possible deserve all this, because Preston’s looking at him like MacCready is  _home_ , and somehow,  _somehow_ , after everything MacCready’s been through, after everything he’s  _done_ , he has the privilege of being able to feel the same way back. Has the privilege of  _seeing_  it.

And the previous words die on his lips as his cheeks heat up, the back of his neck going red, he  _knows_  it. Damn it.  _Nothing about being in here, jack all to do with it_ , he wants to say, suddenly.  _Just want to see you like this._

And he’s probably been staring a little too long, but he can’t tear his eyes away, even when Preston obviously goes a little flustered from the attention, rubbing his neck and drawing his attention to lighting the lamp beside him.

MacCready barely realizes he says anything, not until Preston turns back to look at him, dark eyes illuminated by soft oranges and melted yellows.

“What did you say?”

And MacCready finds himself snorting, cheeks and ears warm, as he comes closer. Comes by the side of the bed, props an arm over one side of Preston, leans in. Kisses the man, ignores the bump of his glasses, and commits it to memory, burns the way Preston shivers into his mind.  _This is the guy who loves you, RJ,_ his mind says.  _Don’t screw up this time._

When they pull away, he’s grinning hard enough to hurt, and Preston’s content, almost shy smile is something he sees in perfect, perfect clarity.

“’S so that I can see you better.” MacCready says, clearer this time, grinning, before leaning in again.

**Author's Note:**

> this makes no sense. i was listening to I Wear Glasses by Mating Ritual (where the title's from) and it just. sparked a flame that burst into a fire and BEGGED for me to write something for it. so here it is. i gave the fucking sniper character hyperopia. i am so so sorry if i fucked it up, i don't have it myself so there might be a little bit of inaccuracies in here. a lottle bit.
> 
> i wrote this all at one go instead of the fic chapter i should've been doing ahhhhhhhHHHHHHHHHHHHH why do i do this to myself WHY DO I DO THIs maybe i'll delete this someday
> 
> uhhhhhh THANKS for reading if you got this far! if you leave kudos or comments i may or may not cry
> 
> edit: 10/3/2018 guess which dumb idiot jinxed herself and has hyperopia now hahahahahahaha


End file.
